A Closed Mouth Gathers No Tongue
by idol269
Summary: Ronald Weasley's mouth is getting him into trouble.  But the decision to close it is not an easy one...


A Closed Mouth Gathers No Tongue

By idol269

I, Ron Weasley, am a man. Not a bird, not a bloody poof, a man. As a card-carrying member of the Y-chromosome club (and before you ask, no, poofs are not members of this club; you can't be a member if you would use one Y to violate the back of another Y) I cannot for the life of me figure out what the problem is. I mean, I don't even think there _is_ a problem.

They were just _jokes_, for Merlin's sakes! Just words! Sure, they were in poor taste, and they were definitely dirty, but that's what made them funny. Ever heard a funny joke that was clean? Didn't think so, because they don't _exist_. Normally, I couldn't be arsed to care, but the people around me are starting to whine… a _lot._ It's bloody irritating. But not as irritating as when they completely ignore me, which I admit is happening with more and more frequency. Actually, it's even starting to hurt a little. Physically, I mean! Bollocks, I can't believe I even had to clarify that, I already said I wasn't a poof didn't I? Ugh…I'm not making sense, am I? Alright, I guess I'll just tell you what happened and let you be the judge.

You've heard Neville's going with Hannah Abbot, right? Well, they invited us to dinner one night. Us is Harry and Ginny and me and Hermione. I didn't even really want to go to this dinner in the first place. That ought to tell you something right away, me not wanting to go to dinner. I mean, Neville's a friend, but he's always been a little awkward. Watching him act all goofy around Hannah is like listening to nails on the chalkboard, Hermione's cat's whining, and Malfoy's ferrety sniveling—all at the same time. I just can't take it, which is why I've admittedly only seen the both of them as a couple a couple of times.

But of course, Hermione got the letter before I could intercept it and burn it and spread the ashes in an undisclosed location, and she thought it would be _wonderful_ and _lovely_ to have a night out with our friends.

I'll be honest, I really don't need to see my friends more often than I do. I see Harry every day at work, and I don't really like Ginny all that much. Now, if Hermione proposed me seeing more of her naked, that I'd agree with…

Anyway, I already didn't want to go, but hearing her describe it as "wonderful" and "lovely" wanted to make me complete the experiment I unwittingly started a few months ago where I jammed a fork into one of those barmy Muggle toasters Hermione showed me. I'd make sure to finish the job this time, too, because Hermione ripped into me for a good hour after that about how irresponsible and foolish I am. Thank Merlin I've had nine years to learn how to tune her out and focus on the positives, like how all of that yelling makes her breathe real heavy, which makes her chest rise and fall, which makes her tits…I'd better stop now, I shouldn't get started on how fantastic Hermione's tits are or we'd be here all night.

So, moving on, Hermione and I Apparated from our flat (yes, we live together, what are you, my mother?) to Hannah's place. She keeps a flat above the Leaky Cauldron where she works. We knocked, and Neville opened the door. Harry and Ginny were already there sitting and talking with Hannah.

Hannah stood up while we took our coats off, saying, "Great, now that everybody's here I can start serving the food! I hope I'm not being rude by asking if you all don't mind forgoing the small talk and diving straight into dinner? I mean, we all know each other, right? Besides, I'm absolutely starving!"

"Mind going straight to the food? Maybe we don't know each other if you even have to ask me that!" I said, getting laughs from everyone. So far, so good.

"Well, since you're so excited about dinner, would you help me toss a salad?" As someone with a functional sense of humor, how I am supposed to let that one go by?

"Wow, tossing your salad, isn't that what Neville's for? I think you're taking this 'knowing each other' thing a bit too far!"

That didn't fly so well. Come to think of it, it didn't sit so easily either; when we got home Hermione hexed me so bad I couldn't do either one for about a week. But that was funny, admit it! And I will not be scared into submission by a woman who is near a foot shorter than I am, no matter how much I like to sit down! Fine, if you didn't like that joke, you _have_ to like this one.

Harry and I stopped off for a drink one night after our shift was over. By the way, we're both Aurors in case you've been in a coma for the last few years. Ginny and Hermione were having a girl's night out, whatever the fuck that means. Actually, I don't want to know. Anyway, I suggested going to a Muggle pub. Seeing as how I was going with Muggle-born Hermione, I was spending more time in the Muggle world and I wanted to practice being "normal" and using Muggle money.

In all honesty, I had motives beyond being "normal" in the Muggle world. You should see how turned on Hermione gets when I do things like pay with the correct amount, or hail a taxi for us, or use a compfuser. One time we were at a coffee shop and Hermione went to use the loo. I saw an abandoned newspaper on one of the tables and started reading it. A man nearby noticed me reading about some Muggle football team, and he asked me what I thought their chances for the cup were. Somehow I managed to make small talk with the guy even though I didn't know what the hell he was talking about most of the time. Anyway, Hermione came back a little while later with this glazed look in her eye. I got up to go, but she grabbed my hand and took me to where the loos are. She went back into the women's loo, came out 15 seconds later, told me the coast was clear, dragged me in there, locked the door, and shagged me right on the counter! Turns out she was watching that whole conversation I had with that bloke and she couldn't even wait to get me home!

By the way, did you know Muggle money is paper? Why the hell would anyone put any value in that? It's bloody ink on parchment, like one of my essays. Makes me wish I had a time-turner. I'd love to try and convince some Muggle to buy an essay off me. I'd tell him it was some ancient money! Give me a gold galleon any day.

So, back to the story. Harry and me sit down at the bar and the bartender comes up to take our order. Or is it bartendress? Bartendatrix? Fuck it, she was sex personified. I mean, I'm with Hermione and I wouldn't give her up for anyone, but I'm not dead and neither is my pecker. And at least I played it cool; I had to get about 50 napkins to wipe Harry's drool off the counter.

As the night wore on, we got to talking. Not only was she hot, she was cool! She had family in the Muggle police force, so naturally Harry and I were interested. Eventually Harry asked about her job, and what times she usually had to work. But Mr. Smooth phrased it like, "What time do you get off?" I think you know where this is going.

"Two a.m.," she said.

"That's too bad. If you were going with me I'd get you off at least 3 times by 2 a.m."

SLAP!

That slap fucking _hurt_, too! Merlin, you'd think she'd be used to getting hit on by guys. I think those macho prick police relatives have warped her brain. I thought violence wasn't the answer. (Shut up, I did _not_ rough up that suspect last week. He _tripped_ and hit his head on the table, that's how he cracked his head open and got two black eyes.)

You don't think that's funny? What the hell is wrong with you? Well, I got two more stories, and if you're not laughing I know you're a Polyjuiced Death Eater.

It had been a shitty day at work. I had a 24-hour shift because the entire Auror force was mobilized for a training exercise. When it was over, I just wanted to sleep for the rest of the week. But when do I get what I want? I Apparated back to my flat and what was happening? Hermione's having tea with two of her co-workers. One was a male co-worker. I know what you're thinking, and no, I wasn't jealous of him. He's like 5'4'', 120 pounds. I've seen tits bigger than he is…don't tell Hermione. It was at a bachelor party for Percy, it doesn't even count!

Anyway, instead of being able to crawl into my bed, Hermione gave me one of her looks. The look that said, _You are the co-host, don't even think about leaving the room until the guests do!_ It didn't matter that I barely knew the two, I was now the co-host by virtue of me walking through the front door. Women are barmy like that. But as we've established, there's no way in hell I'm letting another bloke touch my dangle, so I guess I'm stuck with women. You gotta take the good with the bad, right? It's just that the bad would be a lot more bearable if they'd spend more time naked…

Marie was nice enough. She had a nice laugh, which I liked on account of my devastatingly witty sense of humor. Trust me, it's no fun being funny when somebody's laugh makes you want to stick your wand in your ears and blow out your eardrums. But Steven—the tit—was a prick. Remember, it's Steven, not Steve, Stevie, Stev-o, fucking _Steven_. Fuck, I called him Steve twice and he went ape-shit both times. You'd think I was going to cut his junk off with those wonky Muggle pliers my dad keeps in his shed.

And he was so smarmy, too. Every word out of his mouth was so oily I felt like I could take a running dive down the road and slide for 10 miles. But Hermione liked him because he was _fascinating_ on account of his grasp of complex legal theories or some stupid boring shit like that. You can tell her I said that, I don't care.

Anyway, I was losing my cool. I normally have a pretty long fuse (shut up, I do, dammit!) but that fuse was lit 24 hours ago. He kept droning on and on, ignoring my oh-so-subtle throat clears and watch glances. Unfortunately, Hermione didn't fail to catch these, and I swear to Merlin that the looks she was giving me vaporized the ice in my drink. It made me a little hot, too.

"…so Hermione, that's how many legal definitions there are for magical larceny. Isn't that fascinating? I know that surprised you, Ron." I tried not to, but I couldn't help it.

"How the fuck would you know what would surprise me, Steven? What are you, a fucking mind-reader? I bet I know what would surprise you: what a vagina feels like."

SLAP! No, not from Hermione. From the tit. I didn't know that men slapped other men, but I guess he's not really a man, is he? Whatever, that comment was funny and it got him out of my flat. Two birds with one stone!

Unfortunately I still didn't get to go to bed because Hermione kicked me out of the bedroom for a few nights. Bitch. (Merlin, I'm kidding!) And it's not like I mixed some of Crookshanks' food up with the scrambled eggs and bacon I made her a few days later as a peace offering.

I didn't even know that food had fallen in there until the eggs were already made, and my mother taught me never to waste food. Besides, my whole life motto is Whatever Hermione Doesn't Know Won't Hurt Her. Actually, I have a lot of life mottos, come to think of it.

What Ginny doesn't know won't hurt her.

What Mum doesn't know won't hurt her.

What Fleur doesn't know won't hurt her.

What? You think there's a pattern here? Yeah, my whole family is crazy. I'm surrounded by nuts; I should've been a urologist. Yeah, I know I shouldn't know about fancy Muggle doctor titles, but you can be damn sure that as a man I know every possible type of person that could help me if something goes wrong in Man Land.

And yeah, even though that cat food accidently fell into those eggs and mixed with them so perfectly that no person could eat them and detect anything without help from whoever accidentally put the cat food in there, she would have deserved it because it's shite that women can arbitrarily kick men out of the bedroom.

But I said I had one more story, didn't I? Right. So Harry comes with Hermione and me to a Harpies match to watch Ginny. Hermione and I went off to find our seats in the stands before the match. Harry didn't come with us because the bloody wanker decided to sit in the luxury box. Real fans sit in the stands, dammit!

And I'm not just saying that because Ginny didn't invite me to the box even though Harry was right in front of me when she asked him and even though the luxury box is for people close to the players. (I'm her fucking brother, we shared the same womb! How much closer can you get?)

And I'm also sure that the reason she didn't ask me was _not _because of what I said to her the week earlier, when she asked me how she looked in her new jeans and I told her arse made her look like she was Hagrid's overweight sister. What, she told me to be honest! Who the hell asks for an honest answer when they don't want one? Oh yeah, women. _Mental_, the whole lot of them.

To my absolute delight we had two poof lovebirds sitting right in front of us. Even better, one of them was trying to explain to the other one how Quidditch is played. They're at an important match and they don't even know how the fucking game is played! Shouldn't they be at home knitting pink turtlenecks out of glitter and waxing their chests?

The shite of it is that the explainer (I'll call him the Husband) didn't even know what the fuck he was saying to the explainee (the Wife). Anyway, I guess my long fuse wasn't long enough, again. What is it with these fucking people that they feel the need to torment me until I blow up?

So the Husband starts to explain the different balls used in Quidditch. I'm not kidding.

It took all of my strength not to ask him if he could fit those balls in his mouth. I didn't! But a man has only so much self-control.

"I don't really count the Snitch as a ball, even though it's so exquisitely designed with its golden veneer and couture wings. I saw a Snitch up close and, Oh! My! Gosh!, I would loooooove to have a dressing gown made out of that material!"

"If you keep telling me about your plans for such a yummy dressing gown we won't even be able to watch this silly match. I'm going to take you home and have my way with you, mister!" Kill me now.

"I'm going to remember your offer, you saucy wench! So as I was saying, if you don't count the Snitch, that leaves two blood-gerrs and a quay-full. That's three balls in all."

Fuck it. "One more and that'd be enough for the both of you."

"EXCUSE ME! Come on Steven, we are leaving. These stands are full of oafish brutes!" I knew Steven was a homo.

Of course, Hermione got offended enough for the both of them and two gerbils.

"RONALD! Of all the irresponsible and insensitive things to say! You just had to say something about _hic_…"

A miracle had happened. She was speechless. And not out of anger. She couldn't talk because she didn't trust herself not to break out laughing. To anyone else, her mouth looked like it was pressed into a taught, frustrated line. But to someone who's known here for nine years, she might as well have been a model in a Muggle toothpaste advertisement, the slightly-upturned corners of her mouth looked that big to my trained eye.

"Say something about what, Hermione? Balls?"

"_Hic…_"

"How it'd be pretty tough for a man to walk if he had to carry three of them around all the time?"

"_giggle…__"_

"How they bounce with impact?" That did it.

She unleashed my favorite laugh in the world: the one where she gives in completely, with no reservations, with no thought to who might be watching or to what others may think.

Sometimes she gets too wrapped up in what other people think, so I think of it as my third job free her from the prison of self-consciousness. (My first two jobs? Loving her and protecting her.)

Eventually, she came back down to earth and, just as I predicted, started to get embarrassed about laughing at something "inappropriate."

"Admit it, Hermione, that was damn funny."

"Language, Ron! And just because I laughed does not make it appropriate to say such things, or speak to people in such a way, or—"

This time she was speechless because I kissed her for all I was worth. How could I not when she looked so adorable, wearing Quidditch gear, with cheeks flushed from the wind and embarrassment, and that twinkle in her eye she gets when she's trying to be stern with me but deep down is loving every second of it? I decided to let her out of her misery. And when she responded just as passionately I knew I had made the right decision offering an olive branch. Or was it an olive tongue?

So maybe I won't try to keep my mouth closed after all. I mean, I still successfully land a joke more often than not, even with Hermione, and no one can score goals 100% of the time, can they? Besides, a closed mouth gathers no foot, but if I kept my mouth shut how could I get Hermione to stick her tongue down it?


End file.
